


weird flex but okay

by simplyclockwork



Series: Tumblr Inspired/Prompted Fics - Part Two [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crack, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Incorrectly used Slang Words, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sherlock tries to learn American Slang, Slang, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:55:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27089728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyclockwork/pseuds/simplyclockwork
Summary: Prompted by @tindomerelhloni-official on Tumblr:Five times Sherlock uses slang words wrong and five times he uses them correctly. (Example, over a dead body he says "This is Lit!" and John has to explain that Sherlock has been looking up slang words in order to understand their younger clients.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Tumblr Inspired/Prompted Fics - Part Two [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1968538
Comments: 40
Kudos: 142





	weird flex but okay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tindomerelhloni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tindomerelhloni/gifts).



> I didn't quite succeed in the five times format, but hopefully this suffices.
> 
>  **Author Note:** The slang used in this fic fill is more common in North America than the UK, and in many cases derives from AAVE and both the Black and Queer communities. It is important to remember that much of what is considered 'Millenial slang' comes from racialized and/or oppressed communities and that the co-opting of language happens on a regular, ongoing basis in Colonial societies.

**i.**

If someone told John that he’d have to learn current slang in his early forties, then he would have laughed in their face. He's far too old for new things, especially when his life is already full of too many unexpected surprises. 

It starts over breakfast: sausage, eggs and baked beans on toast. The day is grey and sleepy, John likewise. His hair is rumpled as he sits at the kitchen table, eating while he reads the newspaper. He hears Sherlock shuffle into the room and looks up with a welcoming smile, only to have Sherlock squint at his plate, roll his eyes, and scoff, “Sausage _and_ eggs? You’re so _extra,_ John.”

Blinking and uncertain if he should be insulted or just confused, John’s brow furrows. “I’m… what?”

 _“Extra,”_ Sherlock repeats, moving to the sink to fill the kettle and set it to boil. When he turns back to John, he quirks an eyebrow. “It means over the top or dramatic, John, do try to keep up.”

John frowns down at his breakfast. “I wouldn’t call sausage and eggs over the top…”

But Sherlock disappears into the sitting room, waving a dismissive hand and calling over his shoulder, “Don’t be salty, John.” Bemused but moving on, John shakes his newspaper out and turns his attention to the politics section.

**ii.**

After considering the incident a one-off, John follows Sherlock to a crime scene. The victim, a man in his fifties, lies dead in a pool of his own blood outside an office building, and John grimaces at the gory sight.

“Christ,” he mutters, squatting beside the body. Pulling on a pair of neoprene gloves, he gently feels over the skull, lips turning down at the corners when his suspicions are confirmed. “Major head trauma. Definitely fell.” John glances upward with a frown. “Think he jumped?”

Sherlock drops down beside him. “No, this wasn’t a suicide.” He stares at the body, sharp eyes darting over the man’s blood-soaked suit. “Someone yeeted him out the window.”

“How do you—hold on, _what?”_ Frowning, John squints at Sherlock’s face. “What the hell does that mean?”

But Sherlock is back on his feet and barking at Lestrade. “Double-U tee eff,” he demands, striding over to the DI, who just gapes at him.

“Why are you swearing at me? I called _you_ here to solve this.”

Sherlock scowls and sweeps forward, holding out an imperious hand. “It means, _Where’s the Forensics,_ Lestrade. Now, where are they?”

Coming up beside them, John shucks his gloves and tilts his head. “Okay, even _I_ know that’s not right. WTF means, _what the fuck_ , Sherlock. Not… anything about forensics.”

“Plus,” Lestrade cuts in helpfully, “we haven’t run forensics yet. We were waiting for you.”

Sherlock huffs and pulls out his magnifying glass. “Fine. I’ll take a look, but I won’t know for sure what happened until AF.”

Eyes narrowed, John exchanges a look with Lestrade, who mutters, “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

Taking one for the team, John calls, “What’s _AF,_ Sherlock?”

 _“After Forensics,_ obviously!” Sherlock snaps, glaring at them both. “Now, shut up and stop distracting me.”

**iii.**

After enforcing a strict No Sex While Working rule during active cases, Sherlock inevitably ambushes John the second he’s solved it, and they’re alone. Sometimes not even then. John won’t forget the time Dimmock walked in on them in a closet, and he’s sure Dimmock won’t, either.

Seconds after John emerges from the shower, with steam curling out the open door behind him, a naked Sherlock wraps around him like a boa constrictor on steroids. Somehow, he is far more determined than a hungry snake and blessed with limbs that grope over John’s shower-warmed body.

“Mmmm, John,” he growls, licking humid water droplets from John’s neck and making him shiver. “I’m _so thirsty.”_

Tilting his head back to encourage Sherlock’s wandering mouth, John’s eyes flutter shut with a groan. “Not sure licking water off my throat is going to help with that.”

Sherlock claws at the towel tucked loosely around John’s waist, pushing it to the floor with a disgusted noise that edges into a purr once John is nude. “No, John, I’m _thirsty.”_

“So you’ve said,” John muses, helping himself to a handful of arse. Sherlock huffs and grumbles, making John yelp when he sinks his teeth into the side of John’s neck. His whine is petulant and aggravated.

“It means I _want you,_ John! Don’t you know _anything_?”

Content to let Sherlock win this one if it means his quickly-growing erection gets some attention, John hauls Sherlock’s legs around his waist and shrugs. “Whatever you say, babe.”

Sherlock’s resultant grumble dissolves into a breathy moan when John pins him to the wall and silences any further snarky comments in a rather pointed way involving both their lower bodies and a lot of grinding.

**iv.**

“Okay,” John says the next morning, propping himself over Sherlock on one elbow. “What’s with all the slang lately? Did a hip and cool alien possess you?”

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock wriggles closer, pushing his face into John’s armpit. John grimaces but allows Sherlock his weird habits, curling his body around Sherlock’s hip. “It’s an experiment,” comes the reply, muffled against John’s skin.

John frowns, the tip of his tongue peeking out between his teeth. “What experiment involves nonsense words like _yeet?”_

A small smirk twitches over Sherlock’s mouth, and he drags a tickling finger down John’s bare arm. “It’s not nonsense, John. Slang is, in its own rights, a division of language. It has its own semantics and syntax. Slang conveys meaning and culture just as much as full vernacular, professional, casual, academic or otherwise.” He shifts closer, nuzzling the hair at John’s temple.“I’m trying to see if I can engage with younger clients easier if I learn current slang terms.”

Groaning, John drops down and buries his face in Sherlock’s shoulder. “Oh, god. So you haven’t just gone briefly mad.”

“You’re lowkey basic, John.”

“I will shove you onto the floor, don’t think I won’t.”

**v.**

The body is no more than eight hours old, and John frowns down at the corpse with his lips pressed tightly together. Next to him, Sherlock rocks back on his heel andpoints at the body, stating, “Mood.”

John growls and shoots him a stern glance. “Don’t make me come over there.”

A small smirk quirks the corner of Sherlock’s mouth closest to him as Sherlock breezily replies, “Are you flexing on me, John?”

Brow furrowing, John squints at him. “I can flex you right back into a cab and send you home if you like.”

“Duly noted,” Sherlock mutters, his lower lip pushing out in a pout.

**vi.**

“Why is Mycroft always carrying that umbrella anyway?” John asks, watching out the window as Sherlock’s older brother appears on the sidewalk from their front door. Behind him, lounging over the couch like a half-melted version of himself, Sherlock grunts.

“Because he’s always throwing shade,” he says, making John turn around and blink.

“I don’t think you got that one right.”

Scowling at him, Sherlock digs his phone out from inside the couch. “Of course I do, John. How could you assume that I would—” His words trail off as he taps at the screen before his scowl deepens, and he tosses the phone onto the coffee table and rolls toward the sofa back without another word.

Still standing by the window, John giggles and shakes his head. It’s always good to know Sherlock isn’t infallible.

**vii.**

The pinnacle of Sherlock’s new vocabulary comes with yet another case. With all the people turning up dead, John wonders how Sherlock has the time to learn all the words he says.

When they meet Lestrade and his team at the scene, Sherlock begins to buzz with immediate excitement. There are two bodies instead of one this time, and Sherlock is nearly skipping as he walks forward.

“This is lit!” he exclaims, tugging on gloves with a gleam in his eye.

Lestrade turns to John with a bemused expression. Before he can even speak, John sighs, “He’s been learning current slang to better connect with younger clients. Most of it is from across the pond, though, so I’m completely lost.” Shrugging, he watches Sherlock bend down to look in one of the victim’s mouths. “It’s sure keeping me on my toes.”

A soft snort follows his words. “I can imagine.”

“No, you can’t,” John shoots back before Sherlock calls out to them.

“Lestrade! Get your squad. We legit need some better light on the scene.”

Exchanging bemused glances, Lestrade admits, “Yeah, I really can’t.” John just sighs before trudging forward to help his exuberant partner examine the murder victims.


End file.
